


Let's Talk

by Quinny_555



Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [5]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parent Martin Whitly, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Martin Whitly Being an Asshole, Protective Sam Winchester, more angst than fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: Malcolm declined a call from his father for the seventh time that day, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut.“Is that your father?” Sam asked, frowning. “Again?”OrIn which Sam and Dr. Whitly meet.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright & Martin Whitly, Malcolm Bright & Sam Winchester, Malcolm Bright/Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester & Martin Whitly
Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636342
Comments: 23
Kudos: 115





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DestielIsOTP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestielIsOTP/gifts).



> Requested by DestielIsOTP :)

Malcolm declined a call from his father for the seventh time that day, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Is that your father?” Sam asked, frowning. “ _Again?_ ” 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Malcolm said shortly. Sam shook his head. That was the response he had been expecting, but he had been hoping for a different one. 

“I don't think it is,” Sam said quietly. Malcolm’s eyes snapped up, clearly not expecting to be called out on his bullshit. 

“Seriously. I'm great,” Malcolm bluffed. 

“You're not, Malcolm, I know you're not. I'm not stupid, either. You are getting even less sleep than usual lately, and the sleep that you do get is interrupted by night terrors, which are also getting worse. You're distracted and flighty, and don't think I haven't noticed how irritable you've been. It’s even affecting your work.” 

“Work?” Malcolm asked, incredulous. 

“I talked to Gil.” Malcolm groaned, but Sam pushed on. “He’s worried too, we all are. This whole thing with your father needs to end.” 

“What do you want me to do about it, Sam?” Malcolm snapped, tugging at his hair lightly. “I can't block the number, what if Claremont has to call me for- for an emergency? I'm his emergency contact.” 

“Cut him off.” 

“I need him!” Malcolm shouted as he stood, panting slightly as he began to pace. Sam also stood, grabbing Malcolm's hand and bringing him to a stop. 

“He’s breaking you, Mal,” Sam murmured. Malcolm jerked slightly at the devastation in Sam’s eyes. 

“There’s nothing I can do,” Malcolm insisted, desperately wanting Sam to understand. He watched Sam’s face harden slightly. 

“Then I guess I’ll have to do it,” Sam said, resolve strengthening. 

“Do what?” Malcolm asked suspiciously. 

“Talk to him.” 

“What? No, you can't,” Malcolm said, panicking. He knew his father, and he _knew_ how he reacted to people judging his parenting. What would his father say to Sam, what would he do, what if he _hurt_ him? Logically, he was aware that his father couldn't do much while chained to a wall, but the frightened child in him was screaming for him to protect Sam. But Sam was already putting on his jacket and Malcolm’s mind went into overdrive. “Sam, Sam please, you can't, what if-” 

Suddenly Sam was right in front of him, tightly gripping his shoulders and saying something he wasn't quite processing through the sheer panic. 

“Malcolm, you have to breathe,” Sam said, already taking deep breaths for Malcolm to mimic. The smaller man came down from the panic attack slowly but surely, letting his face fall into Sam’s chest as large arms wrapped around him comfortingly. They stayed like that for several minutes, both drawing comfort from the other despite their current disagreement. 

“I'm just worried,” Malcolm whispered. “About what could happen…” the _to you_ went unsaid. 

“I promise I've been through much worse than anything Martin Whitly could do to me,” Sam said, pushing Malcolm’s hair out of his face. Malcolm tilted his head. 

“I know,” he said. He remembered the night that he had learned how much Sam had been through. After waking Sam from a particularly violent nightmare, which resulted in a large bruise on Malcolm’s face and an extremely remorseful Sam, the larger man felt the need to explain why. Malcolm had told him that there was no need to explain, that he had nothing to be sorry for, but he was insistent. Needless to say, Malcolm was shocked to learn that his boyfriend had been tortured by the devil himself. Despite how impossible it sounded, Malcolm never doubted what Sam told him. He knew that Sam could handle himself- he just didn't want him to have to. 

“You don't have to go,” Malcolm said, a last-ditch attempt to prevent what he knew was inevitable. 

“I know,” Sam said, kissing his forehead lightly. “I want to.” 

“Fine,” he muttered. “I obviously can't stop you, so… I'll call and let them know you're coming.” Looking at the beautiful smile that answer evoked, Malcolm’s protectiveness kicked in hard. He knew that if his father did anything to Sam, Malcolm would not hesitate to finish what he started with that ice pick; and this time, he wouldn't miss.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam hated Martin Whitly long before he met him. If what he had done to his victims wasn't enough, he had also seen what he did to Malcolm. What he was _still_ doing to him. Sam hadn't lied to Malcolm; he really wasn't afraid of Martin, just beyond angry. 

“Well, you're new,” Martin said upon turning to face him. He squinted, sizing up the larger man. “Is there a reason you're visiting? They usually tell me when I have a medical consultation.” 

“I'm here about Malcolm.” Sam noted how this caught Martin’s attention. He took a step forward. 

“What about him?” he asked. “Has something happened?” 

“You need to stop trying to contact him,” was all Sam said. Martin looked like he had been slapped, but recovered quickly. 

“Excuse me?” he laughed disbelievingly. “And who are you to tell me what to do?” 

“I'm his boyfriend.” 

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Martin laughed again, shaking his head. “So _you’re_ the reason he’s been ignoring my calls. I thought it might be that lovely lady detective, but this makes more sense.” 

“Glad we cleared that up,” Sam said sarcastically. 

“So, why should I stop trying to contact my son?” Martin waved a hand and sat down in his desk chair. “Give me a reason.” 

“A reason.” Sam shook his head disbelievingly. “It’d be easier to list the reasons why you _should_ keep contacting him, but we can play it your way,” Sam said, letting his inner lawyer take over. “Let’s start with the phone calls, shall we? They cause him an inordinate amount of stress on their own. On one hand, he feels guilty when he doesn't answer them, because subconsciously he feels like he owes you something. On the other hand, he feels guilty when he _does_ answer; mostly because you're a serial killer, which means that he feels like he’s dishonoring your victims when he gives in and you get what you want. He also feels like he is disappointing the people who care about him simply because he struggles with his morals. That’s _just_ the phone calls.” he was pacing now, but he didn't pause. 

“We both know that Malcolm has been diagnosed with complex PTSD, but I would beg to differ. I think that Continuous Traumatic Stress Disorder would be a more accurate diagnosis, because every time he visits you he is re-traumatized. The whole relationship is abusive; you manipulate him, because of course you do. You gaslight him, victim blame, make him doubt himself, pretend that he’s the crazy one, all to keep him coming back to you.” Sam scoffed. “You're worse than my father was.” Martin was now standing, glaring at Sam furiously. 

“I'm not a bad father,” he growled, steadily turning redder. 

“Of course you are!” Sam shouted back. 

“I WAS A GOOD FATHER!” Martin screamed as he lunged forward. The chain stopped him just short of the red line, so that he and Sam were literally toe to toe. Sam didn't even flinch at the sound of the chain snapping taught. 

“I think you know that that’s not true,” he said calmly. “You drugged him, tried to _kill_ him- and don't even try to deny it, we both know it’s true. I'm sure you know that he doesn't sleep anymore, and the sleep that he does manage is strewn with night-terrors. I've had to chain him to the bed every night for the past month because he’s been scared of hurting me. He’s as much of a prisoner as you are.” Sam tilted his head slightly. “But that’s what you want, isn't it? You want him just as trapped as you are, dependent on you for any sense of stability. We both know that psychopaths thrive on control, Dr. Whitly, and we both know exactly what you are.” 

“Right,” Martin said after a moment of collecting himself. “Well, since we both know what I am, then I'm sure that you also know that I do what _I want_. I'm not going to stop talking to my son just because you came here to, what, set me straight?” he leaned in, grinning predatorily. “We both know that I know what I'm doing, and that if I haven't stopped yet I sure as hell won't stop now.” 

“I know,” Sam said. Martin frowned at Sam’s satisfied smirk. “Which is why I'm not leaving it up to you. You will no longer be allowed to contact Malcolm at all. He has been removed from your visitor's list and Ainsley has already agreed to take Malcolm’s place as your emergency contact.” 

“No, no, no, you can't- Malcolm would never agree to this,” Martin said, trying to convince himself. 

“He already has. This has been a long time coming, Dr. Whitly.” Sam turned to leave and heard the chain snap taught again. 

“YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE!” Martin shouted. Sam paused before turning around. 

“See, that’s the difference between you and me,” he said. “I can.” 

“You'll regret this,” Martin growled as Sam knocked on the glass. “I swear to God, I'll make you regret this.” 

“Goodbye, Dr. Whitly,” Sam said over his shoulder, not acknowledging Martin’s threat. He could feel Martin glaring holes into the back of his head until he was out of sight. 

Sam pulled out his phone when he got back to his car. 

_“How did it go? Are you alright?”_ Malcolm demanded as soon as he picked up the phone. 

“I'm fine, and Dr. Whitly won't be contacting you again,” Sam said. He heard Malcolm sigh in relief and felt a weight lift off his chest. He knew that this was for the best, but he had been worried that Malcolm would be upset. The indication that Malcolm was glad for it eased Sam’s anxiety and he smiled. 

_“Great, okay, uh,”_ Malcolm laughed quietly. _“We’re still on for lunch, then?”_

“Of course. I could swing by the station and pick you up,” he offered, already heading that way. 

_“Sounds good. I'll see you then.”_

“‘Kay, love you,” Sam said. 

_“Love you too,”_ Malcolm said and hung up. Sam smiled again at the warmth that filled his chest every time Malcolm said he loved him. He turned up the radio, which was playing _Hey Jude_ , and tapped the beat on the steering wheel. He felt more jovial than usual; why shouldn't he? He was about to see the man he loved with all his heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> Unrelated to the story, but turns out that I am actually TALLER than Malcolm Bright lmao. I went in for a physical and they recorded my height, and I'm not actually 5'7, but 5'10.5 :)


End file.
